


Something Rare

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:03:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray learns a valuable truth</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Rare

The rhythm of his partner’s slow, even breathing and the gentle exhalation of warm air brushing his face soothed him but didn’t bring him sleep. The heat radiating from the smooth skin lying close to his cheek did nothing to thaw the cold empty space inside him. He ignored the discomfort of his position, wanting only to be near Bodie. How had they arrived at this point? Christ, he’d slept with Bodie, made love with Bodie. How would they live with that? Could they? Visions of the previous night raced behind his closed eyelids –Bodie laughing, joking, ruffling his hair, racing ahead of him in the night, stopping and waiting for him to catch up, eyes locked in understanding and anticipation, blood pumping in expectation, adrenaline fuelled action, thinking _this is what it’s all for_ , and then their bodies falling, together…

_Wake up, mate._ A small pain-filled moan escaped the recumbent form. He stilled, recalling the earlier helpless sounds that had been made by this strong, reserved man - soft whimpers that had gone straight to his heart. 

His hand hesitated above the short dark hair, wanting to offer comfort, needing the confirmation of touch, but unwilling to disturb Bodie. He wasn’t ready to look into the deep blue of those eyes. He feared what he might see. Rejection? Blame? Or would there be understanding? Acceptance? He hated this feeling – hated being off balance, unsure, vulnerable. These were not traits one associated with CI5 hard-man Raymond Doyle. At least not the Raymond Doyle the world saw. Bodie – now - _he_ saw someone different. Bodie had welcomed that someone different into his own private world, into his bed. And it had been good. Then, before they could get it all sorted, they fell. 

 

The steady beeping of the monitor affirming Bodie’s tenacious hold on life, the Nurse’s soft footsteps in the corridor outside his room as they carried out their rounds and the clatter of the tea trolley snapped him back to the present.

Bodie’s restless limbs twitched. The lump in his own throat softened. Movement. Awakening? “C’mon, you great clown. Wake up. Let me know you’re all right-” the memory of Bodie’s shuttered face yesterday morning as they’d awkwardly crawled out of a shared bed and silently dressed made him spell out his real fear, “- that we’re all right.”

He squeezed the hand he held in his own. 

_Why’d you go and do that, you daft bastard?_

He closed his eyes and relived the devastating end to yesterday’s obbo. 

Two of the villains had escaped the cordon set by CI5 and the Met and had fled to the roof. He and Bodie had raced up the building’s rickety fire escape.

_Bodie signalled with his hand that he’d go around the stacks to the left. Doyle nodded in understanding and circled around to the right. He saw one of the thugs standing at the edge of the roof, looking down to the street._

_He raised his own weapon and called out, “Freeze. Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head.”_

_Surprised when the man did as he was told, he’d looked around for the second man. Not seeing anyone, he walked closer to pick up the loose weapon. A hard push in the back sent him stumbling toward the parapet. At the same time he heard two gun shots and Bodie yelling, “No!” A sickening realisation went through him when the rusted railing on the edge of the roof gave way and he started to go over the ledge. A strong grip on his ankle held him dangling three storeys above the ground. He heard his partner grunt with the effort of holding on to him, his weight pulling Bodie towards the roof’s edge._

_“Let go, Bodie.” He’d yelled. “You’ll kill us both.” But Bodie’s grip tightened, even as his own weight pulled the man closer to the edge. “Bo-day!”_

_“’M not letting go, Ray,” the words forced through gritted teeth. “Now hold still so I can pull you back.”_

_“Bodie. Let me go. I’m just going to take you down with me.” He struggled to try to twist around so he could pull himself back up._

_“Ray, hold still. I’m ...” The words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot. Bodie gasped and pitched forward. The combination of Bodie’s loss of balance and his own weight carried them both over the side of the building and down to the tarmac._

 

When he woke in hospital, faintly surprised to be alive, they told him that an awning over the building’s front entrance had broken their falls. . Bodie had been in surgery having the bullet wound, only a crease that required a few stitches, tended and his shoulder reset. They gave him painkillers for his own bruised hip and broken arm. When he woke the second time, he and Bodie were sharing a room. He vaguely remembered hearing Cowley inform the doctors that Doyle _would_ be sharing Bodie’s room. Bodie was unconscious. A head injury, the doctor told him. The doctor couldn’t say when Bodie would awaken. As soon as he’d been left alone in the room, he got up and planted himself in a chair next to Bodie’s bed. 

“Why Bodie? Why didn’t you just let me go?” He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “Together. We said we’d go together. You shouldn’t have risked yourself. How am I supposed to live with this? You best wake up, Bodie. Why did you -” 

“Mr Doyle, you should be in your own bed.” He had heard the Sister come in the room several minutes ago, but had ignored her presence, not caring what she thought when she saw his head resting against her patient’s pale forehead and their hands tightly entwined. He sat up straight and turned a fierce look in her direction, challenging her. In her eyes he saw understanding and sympathy. She walked to his empty bed and pulled the pillow free of the tangled sheets. 

“You’ll be more comfortable with this.” She propped the pillow behind him in the hard plastic chair, taking some of the pressure off his hip. He muttered his thanks.

She straightened Bodie’s blanket and checked his temperature and blood pressure, then stepped back from the bed. Her eyes still on Bodie she said, “It’s good you’re here, Mr Doyle. He may not be responsive, but I believe he knows that you’re near. That can only help. Touch, and the sound of your voice, may just bring him round.” She turned her head to look at him and frowned. “Ah, wipe that look off your face, Mr Doyle. I’m not here to judge. Love is love. It’s a rare enough thing, Mr Doyle, and should be treasured no matter where it’s found, no matter with whom.”

His throat closed up. He couldn’t speak. He’d never intended to reveal himself to this woman and he certainly didn’t expect understanding or support. 

She smiled at him sadly, “You poor dear. I’ll get some tea, shall I? There’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a good hot cuppa.”

He listened to her shoes squeak across the floor and out into the hall. He jumped when the grip on his hand tightened.

A quiet whisper filled the room. “She’s right, y’know, sunshine. Should listen to her.”

“Bodie...” his voice failed him as he turned back to the man in the bed. And he felt embarrassed for his earlier fears. There was no blame, no doubt, no questions in the eyes considering him. Only relief - and something else. Something that had gone unrecognised before, but now became very clear. A treasure, the Sister had called it. And she was right, nothing else mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Anna & Snailbones for advice and encouragement!


End file.
